It's Not Over
by feelingfictional9899
Summary: "The United Kingdom, it sounds like utopia, like nothing could go wrong, everything was perfect, united, no matter what... Soon, the whole of London will be a smoking hole of burning bodies and rubble." Updated Chapter 5 added
1. London's Proverbially Burning

British eyes were focussed on the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Flotilla on the Thames. People who had even the smallest amount of sense were remaining indoors to shelter from the driving summer rains, but the true 'patriots' were donning their rain ponchos and holding street parties to celebrate 60 years under Queen Elizabeth II. The rain did nothing to dampen the British spirits. Hundreds of barges and yachts sailed their way up the river from Canary Wharf up to Kew. The Queen, being one of the richest women on the planet, had her own elaborately decorated barge with gold lavishly laced over wood. I'm surprised the thing stayed afloat, it must have weighed a tonne!

Come early August, the eyes of three billion people will be fixed on Stratford to watch athletes from all corners of the world push themselves to the limit, in hope that it will be enough for a chunk of gold around their necks, and their national anthems played by an orchestra in front of 60000 spectators.

It was the day of the 100m final, and Usain Bolt was favourite to win. Sports commentators from all competing countries were preparing themselves for the fastest race on Earth. 10 seconds to describe the start, middle and end of a race for 8 people. I was sat dead level to the finish line, about 20 meters away, so I had an excellent view of everything that was meant to happen.  
About 10 minutes after the athletes had paraded out onto the start line, a steward informed them to prepare themselves for the start of the race. The athletes moved to the starting blocks, their vision like tunnels, focussed only on the space in front of them. Although the stands were bustling with noise from the spectators, there was an ambience of calm before the gun-shot sliced through it, like a hot knife through butter, indicating the start of the race.  
Bolt lived up to his name, leaving the blocks in an instant, immediately moving a good five meters in front of the rest of the pack.

Seconds later, the race ended, and Usain began his victory lap around the circuit. He had broken his world world record and had made history (this is getting fictional now), becoming the first person on Earth to officially run 100m in under 9.5 seconds. Considering this, I had to beat the approaching crowd from above me down to the side of the track to get some sort of memento, I can't remember what it was, given the circumstances that have happened to me since. It was probably some sort of signed photograph or t-shirt.  
The cheering crowds were enough to awaken a corpse. Victor Bunting (fictional runner) came second, much to many's dismay, considering the trouble he had been in with the law concerning anabolic steroids in the previous weeks.  
That is when I heard the explosion.

Emerging from the vast crowds of the Velodrome was a burly young man, wearing a baseball cap which was brandished with the Union Jack, tan shorts and a khaki jacket. A small device was inside his jacket pocket, slightly visible over the rim. His skin was pale and leathery like a cheap handbag. Slowly, he waded his way through the treacle-like sea of people, against the strong current of them who were rushing to the exit, to the side of the stadium. When he approached the wall, he propped himself against it and let a devious smile spread across his face. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the metal remote and entered a four-digit code. A flap opened and large, red button was revealed. His smile spread wider and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pressed the button.

A huge explosion rang out across the Olympic Park from the main stadium. The night sky was lit up in a fiery red hue as rubble cascaded down like an avalanche. A cacophony of coughing and spluttering is what followed, along with the desperate out cries of spectators.  
To call myself lucky would be an understatement, I was among the people who were only slightly injured by the blast, so I clambered over the broken stools towards the crumbling emergency exit. The metal door frame was mangled and jagged shards of glass from the door's window stuck dangerously out, but this stopped no one from cutting themselves even more than they already were as they broke through to relative safety.

One thought pulsed fervently in my mind. Only one. It's the same word that flashes at the forefront of anyone's mind when they're in danger. Three letters; one desperate meaning.

Run.

Tourists are a pain in London but on that particular day it seemed even worse than ever. A large group of them strolled past me, making cars and even buses halt in their tracks as they crossed the road; the red man on the traffic lights stared at them. Slowly, I let out a sigh and pulled out a packet of Marlboro Blue from the pocket. The flame from my lighter flickered in the city breeze and singed the hairs on my fingers like a casual reminder that I shouldn't be using it. I was trying to give up but, the stress of recent events had wreaked havoc on my anxiety.

Oxford Street was heaving with foreign tourists, dipping in and out of the various souvenir stalls and big label stores. The Primark flagship store opposite the Palace Hotel on Marble Arch was always busy, even after the tourist season has ended. Its' cheap, low quality clothes attract even the lowest of the lowest class, looking for a printed tee made by an eight year old in a sweatshop in the darkest parts of India. I needed to buy a new shirt after what had happened last week, but since then, crowds made me feel immensely uncomfortable. You never know the history of the person standing next to you. Amongst the crowds spilling into the store with me was a fairly short woman, with blue hair and red streaks. She stood out like a sore thumb, despite her height. I was halfway up the escalator to the menswear, when I realised that the initial singe from the cigarette turned out to be a considerable burn. When I reached the top of the escalators, I diverted myself away from my original route to the clothes, and instead made my way to the customer service desk.  
I asked if a first-aid kit was available at all and the woman behind the desk told me to come into a room behind it, where she took out a bandage and told me to run my finger under the tap next to her. I turned on the tap and left my entire hand under the flow for the start of the required 10 minutes.  
It was at this point that the entirety of the shop floor fell silent, and a shot was fired from somewhere inside the store.

Screams, again, but less muffled, more 'in your face'.

More shots were fired, and several people came running into the room behind the counter, in hope for some relative safety. A woman who scarpered into the room was fumbling for the key to the lock, but that was all in vein. The woman with the red hair and blue streaks kicked the door down with all of her might and cocked the pistol in her hands.  
After seeing this sort of situation countless numbers of times on TV shows, I figured it would be best to stay quiet and do that the captor says, if she makes demands. I gestured to the older man next to me to keep quiet. Other people did the same, but the supervisor who showed me into the room for the tap must have found this too much.

She started sobbing. She was dead.


	2. It's Hard to Escape Your Past

The TV echoed down the marble clad hall, into the master bedroom: "Several terrorist attacks have left hundreds dead in London today. While no one had admitted to plotting and carrying the attacks out, MI6 are suspecting that an emerging cell from Kuwait called Third Wave are to blame, although most people think that this is the continuation of the 7/7 bombings in 2005, leaving 56 dead…"

"Would you turn that crap off?! I don't want these things getting me back into the past, I'm done with that and you know that!

"Bruce, it's finished and I am trying to get the weather. Why don't you shut the door?" Alfred shouted down the hall.

"You're the butler, you do it!"

"You never cease to amaze me, they should never have passed that law…"

"Who's they?"

"Christ, the government, do you even remember where you are?"

"Yes I do. I am in bed, in a house which is far too expensive somewhere in America. Now leave."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"As far as I am aware, no. Leave."

"You need to get up, you're needed outside."

"I'm nocturnal, get Tom to represent me."

"No, the IRS need to see you now!"

"Tell them I am busy now and I am available any time next week. Please leave now maybe?"

"It's your fortune on the line, that's fine by me."

Bruce began to stir from his deep slumber and put on a ripped t-shirt which seemed years old. He slipped out of the duvet and trudged to the toilet, flicking the light on the mirror. The light shone in his eyes brightly, momentarily blinding him.

He looked a mess, he hadn't washed in weeks and a long beard had grown from his chin. To put it short, he was unrecognisable from the Bruce Wayne everyone knew.

Several months ago, the US government passed a law, forbidding vigilantes from operating whatsoever. This caused Bruce to be left with a house, piles of money, and a suit.

Slowly, he trudged back out of the bathroom, leaving the light on in his drowsy state. His bare feet glided over the hardwood floor as he approached the lounge. He downed himself on the sofa and set about to focus on the TV, which seemed to blur in the sleep of his eyes.

"So who do you think is responsible?" Bruce shouted from the sofa to Alfred.

"Oh, you're up. If it doesn't affect me, I couldn't care less." Alfred yelled back, reaching for the phone as he did, "get dressed, they're waiting for you outside."

"Why do they need to see me so urgently? I haven't done anything that I shouldn't have!"

"You know why they need to see you. It wouldn't be so urgent if you had agreed to see them when they first came round, _three m_onths _ago_."

"_I wasn't doing anything wrong three months ago, and I wasn't doing anything wrong before that! "_

"_Just go and bloody see them! It will be better for you and them, stop wasting their time."_

_Bruce unwillingly agreed, and walked back to the bedroom and found something to wear that was a bit more presentable. En route, he passed an iron door with a retina scanner and thumb-pad._

_He was unwilling to see the IRA, and he wanted to waste their time just a little bit longer. He wandered over to the retina scanner and rested his head on the small ledge below it, placing his eye over the scanner. A small red beam fired from the internal workings and moved over the retina, a readout next to the scanner showing the progress._

"_Scan complete."_

_The door slowly swung open, revealing a narrow staircase down to another door. Small, electric lights lit the descending path, which Bruce followed down. The next door was wooden, and stained with blood._

_Memories came flooding back from his deep conscious and he began to question what he was doing, but Bruce felt he had to carry on, almost as if he was being controlled._

_Alfred was walking out of the kitchen and noticed the iron door to the tunnels was open._

"_Bruce, what are you doing? Get out of there, you know it's not safe!"_

_No reply followed, only an echo from the deep tunnels"_

"_Forget it." _

_Alfred continued along the hall to the front door and began to open the series of complex locks that Bruce had installed out of paranoia._

_A good minute later, the locks had been removed and Alfred calmly opened the heavy door._

"_We need to speak to Bruce. Where is he?" The men questioned Alfred with no expression or emotion in sight._

"_I'm afraid Bruce has gone walkabouts. I can deal with his problems. What do you want?" Alfred replied with confidence._

"_We want to speak to Bruce regarding his money laundering. Now move or we will move you forcefully." The men demanded._

"_What use is that when you don't know where he is?" Alfred asked, his confidence remaining._

_The men from the IRS stood emotionless at the door in silence._

"_Follow me."_

_Alfred closed the door and lead the men down the hall to the iron door, where the group stopped. The men from the IRS instructed Alfred to accompany them down the tunnels. Alfred agreed and lead the group down the staircase and past the bloodstained door, into the main tunnel._

_The tunnel was crudely carved out of the clay beneath the manor, with no light except for the occasional handheld torch left on the floor._

_The men stopped Alfred:_

"_We think this would be a good time to tell you why we are actually here…"_


	3. Lord Kitchener Needs Him

The lead man took out a badge from his pocket, slightly lifting his jacket as he did, revealing a handgun.

"My name is Caiden Roberts, Sector 16. These are my colleagues Balfour and Ron. Are you aware of the situation across the pond?" Some emotion had come over him.

"The terrorists in the UK, hasn't everyone?"

"We believe this is the start of something much bigger. The Kuwaitis have been exporting an increased volume of oil to China, to which China has been thanking the Kuwaitis with nuclear weapons."

"What does this have to do with Bruce?" Alfred questioned.

"The law what was passed in the government doesn't apply elsewhere in the world. The British will be overwhelmed with panic, which the police will struggle to handle. Their military is being reduced to half the size it was two years ago, and most of the active servicemen and women are in foreign territory. The panic will cause people to loot. The looting will cause riots. The riots will…."

"Get to the point!" Ron butted in.

"To cut a long story short, they won't be able to handle the ensuing problems. They need him." Caiden responded

"Need who?" Alfred was puzzled.

"The Batman."

"I warn you, he's in no fit state do that again! See for yourself."

Alfred continued to lead the men from Sector 16 down the tunnels.

"Is there any chance that this tunnel could get any smaller? Balfour muttered with mild sarcasm.

Eventually, the tunnel widened enough for the four of them to stand side by side. They continued walking until they came to a stone platform with a glass barrier. The whole platform was surrounded by a waterfall which cascaded for what seemed like miles beneath them. The platform began to descend down the side of a vertical stone face, coming to a halt and the bottom of the waterfall, which had been separated by a glass arch.

The group stepped off the platform beneath the arch, and were stopped with the sound of a jet engine.

"It's been so long since I've been down here that I'd forgotten the crap he'd collected." Alfred

They continued along a suspended metal gantry over a clear pool of water. This was followed by several small steps up onto a central island where a set of monitors merged to form the most iconic symbol in American history.

"This is where you'll find him. Bruce! Get down here."

He was nowhere to be seen. The men from Sector 16 stood puzzled while Alfred seemingly jumped over to a keyboard in front of a monitor. Alfred entered his details when prompted by an outdated startup sound, followed by the appearance of a dialogue box with an username and password box. The box disappeared and another appeared, this time reading: 'Last login was over 4 months ago.' Alfred searched on the computer for records of recent logins, which turned out to be in vain.

Suddenly, a silhouetted figure approached Balfour from behind. He was grabbed around the waist and gripped on the shoulder. Balfour had been rendered unconscious. Caiden and Ron had begun to approach Alfred at the computer before this had occurred to inform him of their intentions while they were here.

While they were approaching Alfred, the figure had moved on to Ron. Again, Ron was grabbed around the waist and gripped on the shoulder. He too was rendered unconscious.

The figure silently hoisted the body of Ron over his shoulder and hid in the shadows, then did the same with Balfour's.

"Alfred, your efforts are greatly appreciated, but it's clear that he isn't down here. Are there any other places he could be in these caves?" Caiden asked Alfred.

"Yes, there is another place, but it's only accessible from the storm doors in the yard."

"Could you take us there? It's imperative that we find him."

"You may be on your own…" Alfred pointed to the empty spaces where Balfour and Ron once stood, "...He's here."

"Tell me about it." Caiden drew his handgun and began to aim, but was interrupted by:

"Do you really think that's going to work?"

Caiden turned to see where the growling voice was coming from. After a half turn, he saw the figure, with short 'ears' and a wide chest. Caiden was grabbed around the neck and brought to the figures' knee.

"Why are you here?" Bruce demanded,

"Who don't you tell me?"

"I did NOT launder money!"

"Did you see the goddamned news? That's why we're here. Now get off of me!"

The two remained in the potentially lethal grip for a few more seconds, then Bruce loosened his grip on Caiden, who subsequently rapidly moved himself away.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Caiden Roberts from Sector 16, and the two men you've hidden are my colleagues Ron and Balfour. I'm impressed to be honest, seeing as you are 'in no fit state'."

"Sector 16? Stop talking out of your arse and tell me who you really are."

"We are Sector 16, a covert team working for the US government. We know a lot about you, Bruce, more than you might think. You were careless at times, but the public didn't want to believe that a multi-billionaire who lives in this place would want to help the people of the rotting city. You left doors open, portals into your life which allowed us to trace you back here."

"I covered my tracks, there is no chance that you could have done this without help." He turned to Alfred.

"Ever heard of technology? You seem to have enough of it here to have a faint understanding."

"Don't play with me, what did you do!?"

"Bugs"

"Bullcrap"

"No, bugs…" He took out a small chip from his blazer pocket. "There is a small camera made with plastic components, there was no chance that your Oracle could have detected it."

"There has to have been more to it than that."

"Correct, we used a plastic glider. Lo-tech equipment is best when tracking people, especially you."

"Well congratulations, you found me." He began to turn to run to return to the shadows.

"We need you."

He continued running, in silence.

"They need you."

His words were ignored once again.

"For God's sake, dammit Bruce! The law doesn't apply anymore!"

The sound of footsteps began to get louder, when:

"I'm. Not. Interested."

"Come on. When you heard that the government were coming, you came and hid down here. I don't suppose you do this regularly? It's clear to me that you miss being the Caped Crusader."

Nothing.

"We weren't sent by the US, we were sent by the UK. I can tell you deteste the US government for passing that law. No such law exists in the UK, the last person who undertook vigilante status was killed. You were better than him, we've seen, the country's seen, the world has seen. Do you really want to be partially responsible for the deaths of potentially seven million people?"

Caiden's tactic of sympathy and threats caused Bruce to click.

"So, are you in?" Caiden asks, in a tone that says he knows what the answer will be.

"Fine, I'll do it." Bruce replied with a sigh, his brow creased; he was not entirely sure that this was a good plan.

Caiden gestured for Bruce to change back to 'normal' Bruce and handed a sheet of paper over to Alfred.

"These are profiles of the people who we feel are involved in the plots in London, we need you to briefly go over these names and faces with him. He'll be apprehending them in London within the next two weeks."

"Sure."

"Bruce will be leaving as soon as he is ready. We will need the suit and nothing else, we will transport it to London RAF Northolt. A British Airways transatlantic flight will be leaving at 5pm, flight number BA0001, from Gotham International. He needs to be there at 2pm, with _this _passport…" He showed Alfred a fake passport, with the name 'Blake Henderson', "Here are his tickets, seat 1A. So, just show Bruce the profiles, give him the flight details and tickets, and take him to Terminal B before 2pm. That is all, thank you for your cooperation."

"What about your men?"

"I don't suppose you have any smelling salts?"

"Do I look like a gymnast? Dick is long gone so he most likely has it."

"I don't think it matters, they're coming around as we speak…"

"Did he accept?" Balfour asked.

"Fortunately, yes. We need to get the suit out of here."

"What? He said yes?" Ron's voice was laced with amazement and shock.

"Rather reluctantly, yes, now help me get his suit out of here."

The three men from Sector 16 wandered in the direction that Bruce disappeared, onto a narrow ledge surrounded by another waterfall. The ledge led the to a row of glass cabinets, each one housing a variant of the batsuit, one of which was missing.

"I was not expecting this…"

"What, one missing. Or 14 different ones?"

"Most definitely the latter. Balfour, get Alfred to join us up here."

"Okay."

Balfour jogged down the passage to find Alfred whilst Ron and Caiden marveled at what surrounded them in the cave. A spectrum of batsuits in a row of glass cases; sort of like being in a museum of heroes. However Caiden wondered if Bruce Wayne was going to turn out to be the hero that they needed for the task at hand.

"Quite something, isn't it?" Alfred's voice interrupted Caiden's thoughts as he sauntered over towards him, his shoes clicking on the stone floor below them. "Why do you want to see me?"

"Oh, you startled me! Why is there one missing?"

"Well, you're supposed to be the smart guy from the government. Can't you figure it out?" A grin spread across Alfred's face. Then it became as clear as the water falling around ledge; Bruce was gone and so was one of the suits.

"So, he really has agreed?" Caiden said, with a slight chuckle. He wasn't really asking anyone but himself. Although he didn't show it, he found it impossible to believe that he had gotten Bruce Wayne - Batman - to agree to go on this mission.


	4. Trickery

"He must have realised he was flying in economy!" Ron joked, but rather than the sound of laughter filling the air, the sound of a metaphorical tumbleweed rolling was evident.

"He never knew he was flying with the public, under a fake name and passport, with no possessions or money. Ron you seem to be crap at knowing when to stay shut-up." Caiden responded with a stern look. Imperceptibly, Ron nodded his head and then mimed a zip going across his lips.

"So what now? He's gone with the suit, with the knowledge that London's falling and that the British won't be able to cope. But after seeing his skills after four months, I think he'll be fine."

"I wouldn't be so sure, he hasn't left the house since the law was passed, he's probably lost the stamina he once had, and the strength. I don't think he will be able to cope." Alfred stated, his tone of voice was layered with doubt and stress. "He'd been sat on that couch for almost 3 days straight. You need to find him before he gets to England. I know for a fact his abilities won't be what they used to be and he needs to be brought back into the justice driven state of mind that he had before. Also, he must be slapped back into reality, that there is more than what's inside the house."

Caiden proceeded to take out his mobile phone and began to punch in the digits for MI6 while Alfred continued to whine.

"He's gone, hold on, I'll put you on speakerphone…" Caiden unlocked the phone and touched the megaphone symbol, indicating the speaker. "...You're on with Balfour, Ron and Alfred, Bruce's butler."

A British accent echoed around the cave: "What do you mean 'he's gone'! I told you to get him to London in one piece, God know what he'll do now!"

"I mean, sir, that he took a suit and left. We need you to use your tracking devices to see where abouts he is" Caiden refrained from saying about how in Bruce's current state of mind, he could be in a bar for all they knew.

"Fine, but this is on you if he stays unreachable." The English man hung up and the dial tone rang out in the cavernous halls. Abruptly, Ron's tablet rang into life with a notification from an unknown number. With hesitation, Ron peered at the screen: 'Don't worry, he's not too far.'

The group seemed suspicious, no one outside the government could, supposedly,could access an encrypted communications network. The passwords to certain documents in the network were over 32-characters long, and even after you get through that, there's a separate firewall.

Who ever this mysterious message-sender was, they were obviously clever enough to hack a highly protected system.

Caiden's eyes went narrow as he looked at the screen displaying the message.

"This is either out blessing in disguise, or some idiot trying to make a point."

The three of them ran down the the narrow passageway into the lower platform. They made their way past the computer and were headed for the tunnels, when they were stopped by Bruce.

"Well at least this still works!" Bruce showed them a grappling hook which he fastened to his waist. His time away from reality had began to change his persona.

"What are y- You should have told us you were still down here. We thought you'd left for London already…" Caiden started with anger in his tone, but upon realising that he was raising his voice, he tried to sound calm.

"Tell me where I need to be."

"In plain clothes, at Gotham International, Terminal B, by 2PM," stated Caiden.

"Why there? I can get there on my own accord," said Bruce, frustrated.

"We need to be sure you'll actually be there, rather than trick us into thinking you'd do it."

Both Caiden and Bruce exchanged glares for a good few seconds, when Bruce removed his scowl.

"Get that off, we can take care of the suit. Wait in the manor for Alfred, he needs to see you."

Bruce sighed as he unfastened various clips on the suit, handing the whole thing, eventually, to Balfour.

Balfour collapsed under the weight of it: "How the hell do you cope with this?"

"Enduring years of hell, something which you will never be able to comprehend." He ended this statement with a sharp rise in tone as he turned back into the tunnels back into the manor.

Alfred eventually caught up with the men from Sector 16, where he was welcomed with: "Go and catch him up."

Already seemingly exhausted from todays events, he reluctantly began to jog down the tunnels. Five minutes later, both Bruce and Alfred met at the iron door in the hallway.

"Bruce, put some normal clothes on and read this…" Alfred handed Bruce the sheet of paper from Caiden, "...It's a list of profiles who we believe are involved in this plot."

"Alright." Bruce remained mute as he made his way to his room to put on a t-shirt and jeans that were left on the floor from previous days.

Down in the cave, Caiden dialled the number for the Sector 16, he said two words: "We're ready." The whole cave began to vibrate and a small stream of light began to flood in, becoming wider by the second.

"Ron, Balfour, come with me." Caiden instructed, and all three without hesitation began to sprint along the passageways and ledges back to the glass cabinets.

"Ground team, this is Kilo-four-six, how should we proceed?" An Osprey aircraft came into view overhead and hovered over the suits.

Caiden shouted into an earpiece, holding onto his black tinted shades as the downdraft buffeted the group. "This is ground team, take all of the suits, repeat, all the suits. Send down the platform."

"Copy." The pilot acknowledged Caiden and the belly of the aircraft began to slowly lower. About seven minutes passed before the platform reached the floor of the cave. Several marines with harnesses attached to the platform were crouched close to the edge.

The marines unfastened themselves and hopped off the platform and remained crouched as they approached Caiden.

"Get them all on the platform."

"Got it. We'll start with the one on the right."

The marines approached the cabinet on the right and grabbed it from the bottom, raising it about a foot off the ground.

"Move!" The lead marine shouted over the noise of the rotors. The team inched closer to the platform and raised the cabinet the extra foot up onto the surface. The marines pushed the cabinet towards the centre of the platform after they leapt onto it themselves.

The process of moving one cabinet from the floor to the platform seemed excruciating for the marines, and time consuming. But they were trained for this, they knew what the were doing.

The remaining cabinets varied in size, containing different materials for each suit, each with a bespoke tool. They looked hefty, the men's biceps rippled as they took on the weight.

The marines hopped back off the platform onto the cold stone floor and set to work on the second of the thirteen occupied cabinets.

"That last one took us 15 minutes, I want this done in 10!" The lead marine demanded. Marines like to set targets; no matter what it is, they will do it. Even if it means breaking an arm, they will stop at nothing to achieve this goal.

Within 10 minutes, the second cabinet was up on the platform. Caiden watched from a distance whilst Balfour and Ron made idle conversation.

By the seventh cabinet, each step the marines took sounded like torture.

By the tenth, they were visibly excruciated.

By the eleventh, they were unable to continue. Their grey uniforms were mottled with dark patches of sweat and their faces were red from their work's labours.

The group hoisted themselves up on the platform and fastened themselves to it, the lead marine signalling to Caiden to raise the platform.

Caiden nodded and spoke into his earpiece: "Kilo-four-six, this is ground team, raise the platform."

"Copy."

With ease, the three men from Sector 16 slid into the car, followed by Bruce and then Alfred.

"Tell me again why I couldn't just take my mode of transportation?" Bruce asked, his voice carrying a sigh along with it.

"We don't want you attracting any attention to yourself. You are to travel and act like everybody else. You find that hard, Bruce. You are a human like the rest of us," Caiden stated, his tone rising and falling like he was talking to a young child.

"When I want to be," Bruce said, mirroring the man's patronizing tone at the same time as sounding quite serious.

Sensing the tension, Alfred decided read out the procedure he would have to take to keep a low profile whilst he was out in London. It definitely did its job, as tension was quickly relieved.

Bruce continued to listen to Alfred, when the car stopped. The door was opened for Brice and he stepped out onto the concrete, outside Terminal B and Gotham International. The rain poured over him, and one of the men opened an umbrella above Bruce's head.

Sheltered, he was escorted to the entrance of the terminal. An Airbus A380 roared overhead as they entered the bustling terminal.

"So Benedict, good luck. You need to go to check in desk 42A. Here are your flight details." Caiden handed Bruce his passport and details. He bent over towards Bruce's ear, "Your name for security's sake is Benedict Henderson. Off you go."

Bruce was sent off to check in, Alfred and the other men from Sector 16 returned to their car.

"Thanks Alfred, we'll get a government car."

"Goodbye, and take care of Bruce. Honestly, he needs it"

Alfred bent into his car and drove off onto the interstate.

Check in was surprisingly quick, especially during the peak of tourist season. Within minutes, he'd passed check-in, security, and duty free. He felt the need to buy some cheap imported scotch from the off licence, but he resisted temptation and continued to the departure lounge, where he had an hour to kill. Instead of looking normal and browsing the various shops or buying an overpriced coffee from Starbucks, he proceeded to sit on a metal bench, opposite the departures board. Methodically, he'd check the departure board to check the status of his flight, until he heard: "British Airways flight 0001, now boarding economy class, proceed to gate 320."

Before the muffled announcement had even finished, Bruce was on his feet, beginning the 20 minute walk to the other end of the terminal.

He arrived in the knick of time, as the woman behind the counter was about to announce 'last call'

"Good afternoon sir," the woman greeted Bruce with an unusual British accent, "may I see your boarding pass?"

"You may." Bruce replied with courtesy, handing over the small slip of card with the flight details on."

The woman behind the counter examined the pass, before handing it back to Bruce with a forced smile. "Have a good flight, sir."

"Thank you." Bruce strolled along the boarding tunnel, briefcase in hand, thinking about what could happen to him while he was on foreign soil. At the end of the tunnel, he was greeted by a camp man by the plane door.

"You are right at the front, next to those children. Enjoy your flight!"

As the steward minced into the gally, Bruce frowned, in realisation that he would be spending the next six hours next to screaming toddlers. He squeezed his way past the children, stowing his briefcase above him, and sat down in the narrow seat. He gazed out of the window and watched as the rain continued to fall as he taxied out.

He would remain in this position for the next six hours, blocking out the noise by thinking the same thought over and over: 'What is really going on?'


	5. Welcome to London

The aircraft met the tarmac with a slight bump in landing. The flight had hardly been amazing but a little bit of turbulence here and there didn't bother Bruce much, he'd been through worse. Economy class wasn't so bad after all, Bruce thought to himself whilst the plane took off, but the food served whilst they were airborne made him think differently. As he exited the plane through the large doors on the side and descended the metal staircase that joined metal bird to English soil, he was greeted by the sight of police officers and airport security pretty much everywhere he looked. The outcome of terrorist attacks in the capital, he supposed. Typical English weather was evident as rain lingered in the air and dampened his clothes. He walked through the automatic doors, passing three officers as he went.

After having picked up his luggage, he walked with determination to his destination; the arrivals lounge. A group of people, mainly taxi drivers, stood holding signs with names on. With a sigh, Bruce sought out one with his name on it but alas he could not see one so he sat on one of the padded seats and nestled his case between his knees.

A man with tidy hair and a suit walked towards him, his expression unreadable. Bruce chose to ignore it and gazed around however when he brought his line of sight back in front of him he was met with the man in the suit and accompanying him was a voice with a very strong Cockney accent.

"Bruce Wayne?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me," Bruce answered, knowing the next thing that would be said.

"My name is Agent Crawley," he said in a hushed tone so as not to let anyone else hear him, "I am a representative of Her Majesty's Secret Service. I need you to come with me."

Bruce nodded, picked up his case and was escorted out of the airport into a black Audi A5 with darkened windows.

The car entered the M4 motorway, an elevated motorway which ran from the M25 orbital to The Hammersmith Gyratory. By raising the motorway, drivers can catch glimpses of Metropolitan West London, with it's European car salesrooms and automated advertising screens on the roadside, a contrast from any American interstate.

The interior of the car very much resembled the exterior with a colour scheme of one. The low hum of the engine was barely audible as they started moving and the droplets of rain were beginning to pepper the window.

Then, after passing multiple buildings and blocks that all looked tediously similar, the Audi exited the M4 at Junction 2, for Brentford and the Great West Quarter. The car continued along the lesser A4 below, crossing several roundabouts when finally, they arrived at a hotel, the Montague and Fyfe, where Bruce would staying. Before vacating the vehicle, Agent Crawley's voice cut through the silence that had hung in the car all the way through the duration of the journey.

"Mr Wayne, MI6 shall keep you informed on anything going on that you need to know about," he said, handing Bruce a device that heavily resembled the newest Blueberry model, "It may look like a phone but it's actually a notification and tracking machine. It lets you know any information you like, whilst also, letting us check up on you to see where you are and what's going on."

Bruce eyed it with uncertainty before sliding it into his jacket pocket. "Thank you very much."

The Audi drove away, with the rest of the cars on the road, ready to join the hubbub of traffic in central London.

A suited Bruce stood on the roof of a near derelict tower block in Islington, observing the busy early evening traffic below. The vantage point was high enough to see all thirty-two boroughs of Greater London.

London was much different to Gotham, the streets seemed safer, the lights seemed lighter and there were many more open spaces, and less gothic architecture, more clean and sterile. This didn't appeal to him. The night was calm, and the air was awkwardly still. The cars and the busses below were all heading out of the city, towards the suburbs, towards safety. All seemed well from forty-two stories above the historic streets of The City. Batman continued to observe his surroundings, his earpiece was ringing with chatter from HQ, about four miles away in Vauxhall.

"It's all good here, moving to Southbank."

He was preparing to leap off Tower 42, 180 meters to the street below, when he noticed something in the sky. His vantage point had paid off, as he was able to notice a disc of light shining off the clouds, with a rounded cross within it. Batman began to trace the beam of light, where he noticed it was originating from from the roof of a block of flats, from the north of his location.

"I've spotted something, about a mile north of my present location, investigating."

He lept off Tower 42 and began to glide towards block of flats with haste.

I was returning home after another painstakingly boring day at the bank. The entrance to Peregrine House was falling apart, much like the rest of the block. I drove up into an underground garage and parked next to the door to the stairs and lifts. I was incredibly cautious after what happened on the previous day, almost paranoid, checking behind every door and every corner before continuing. I walked through the door and went to press the button to call the lift, only to see that it had been taped over. The lift for the tower block was broken, again, so I needed up having to face journey up 24 flights of stairs to reach my flat on the top floor. It's a well known fact that the stairwells for blocks of flats are notorious for drug dealing, anti-social behavior and general crime, but I had to face the fact that he'd have to take his chances up the urine stained, concrete stairs.

Fortunately, I was lucky this time, not only were the stairs empty, but they were lit. The energy company must have fixed the transformer. My flat was at the end of the hall on the 24th floor. I rustled through my pockets until I found my door key, unlocking the door and opening it. I closed it behind me and locked it from the door and the internal padlock.

The night sky was inky blue, the moon shone through the clouds. It was about 9pm and the rest of London was doing the same as I was: going home and staying there until the light of morning returned, as informed by Boris Johnson, backed up by MI6. It wasn't safe outside, not since what happened.

I'd just sat down on the worn out fabric sofa in the living room and switched on the TV, the same news circulating on every TV station: terrorists are in London. I wanted my life to stay as normal as possible, I never wanted to do anything extraordinary, make the headlines or become famous. So, like any other normal person, I went to close the curtains at night, when I noticed something strange. The concrete overhang above the window was bowing under some sort of weight. New cracks were appearing and lengthening each second.

Fearing something sinister was going on, I ran to the door and navigated along the maze of corridors until I reached the stairs to the service shaft, leading to the roof of the block of flats.

The door to the shaft was closed, yet unlocked. Someone was up there, or _is_ up there. I felt compelled to see what was going on, so I continued up the stairs in the shaft where I reached the roof. There was nobody there at first glance, so I edged out further onto the roof to take a better look around. Carelessly, I tripped over a loose wire, but I managed to break his fall by rapidly moving my arms out in front. The wire wasn't some old satellite cable which had been deactivated and disconnected. The wire lead to a small black briefcase, which rang with a repetitive, monotonous beep. It could only be one thing. A bomb. A bomb, directly above my flat. A bomb, directly above 240 flats, in central London, at night, during a wave of terrorist attacks. Frantically, I fumbled around for his mobile phone and dialled 999, to hear the welcome sound of: "All lines are busy, please try again later." Followed by an engaged tone.

A mixture of emotions began to circulate around my head. Should I run? Should I try to make it safe? Eventually, I decided, seeing as I couldn't get hold of the police, to signal them by some other means. I knew I had a torch in case of power cuts, but that wouldn't be enough, that would act more as a searchlight rather than a signal. I ran back down to the flat to grab the torch from the kitchen, and then began looking through the the cupboards in the main room, looking for something that the people would recognise. After searching through almost all of the cupboards, I found what he was looking for, a Templar's Cross.

These were issued about a decade ago, when The Hood was roaming and by shining this, he would know he was needed.

I took the cross and the torch back onto the roof and fixed the cross to the torch. Then as I shone the torch into the sky, I turned the torch on and off repeatedly, almost like a Morse SOS. I continued for a few minutes and realised that this was no use, I wandered over to the ticking bomb and looked at the timer, it read three minutes. "Great," I thought aloud, "I'm gonna die anyway.

Realising my own fate, and the fate of the rest of the block, I swore into the city night and slouched by an exhaust fan. That could describe exactly how I felt in these past few days, exhausted.

Two minutes were left and I remained by the exhaust fan, when out of nowhere, the beeping stopped. Amazed, I found himself stood bolt upright, staring at a caped figure beside the briefcase bomb, "I… I thought you were dead?"

An deep, American growl replied, "He was a good man, he helped me out a lot."

"I don't believe you." I replied, not knowing who, or what I was talking to, "wait, Batman?" I questioned as I shone the torch onto the broad American figure.

"Yes. Listen, nowadays I wouldn't know what to believe in! Now, tell me…" The minute Batman uttered those words, a second caped figure appeared from the side of the roof. It was the man who the country thought was dead. The man who died in the hands of mindless criminals.

"Wait, what is this?" The second figure shouted

"What is this? This is 'you're-supposed-to-be-dead-and-how-the-hell-did-you-get-here-so-fast-if-you-are-dead'?" Batman shouted in reply. I wasn't sure how to respond to his highly emotive tone.

"Well it's apparent I'm not dead. What happened up here? Who is he?" The second man verbally fired; back pointed to me. It was clear, he was quite displeased.

"I was just about to ask him and then you showed up! Stay out if this! You - " Batman pointed to me, "-on your feet." He ordered me. I couldn't believe that the Caped Crusader was ordering me around. Fresh from the hostage situation, I was in no mood to disobey, so I stood up without any fuss.

"What is your name?" Batman asked.

To which I replied, "Martin Dalton."

"Oracle, cross reference the name Martin Dalton with anyone involved in the plots." Batman spoke into his earpiece inside the cowl.

"What, you think I did this? I live in this block, why would I want to destroy my home?!" My voice was shrill, I was shocked that he thought that I would do this kind of thing.

"Shut your mouth! Do what he says." The other caped figure shouted at me.

"All of you, shut up! Let me work." Batman demanded.

The other caped figure and I complied and remained silent. Slowly, the other caped figure shuffled along the roof while Batman looked away, waiting to hear back from Oracle.

"Are you ok?" He asked me in a hushed tone.

"Yeah," my thumbs were scratching each other; another nervous habit, "Just a bit anxious after what has happened over these past few days." I replied in a similarly hushed voice.

"Tell me about it, at least you won't have to work with this guy!" The caped figure joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, I guess." I said, still keeping my tone hushed "If you don't mind me asking, how are you alive? I still keep seeing the footage of you being pushed off that dam at Kielder Water, what actually happened?" I asked, my eyes danced with curiosity.

"That doesn't matter, what matters is that I'm here and trying to help you. Stay here. I'll check on the old man." He told me.

The other caped figure walked away from me, towards the grim faced Batman.

"They didn't tell you did they?" I overheard The Hood question Batman.

"Not now." He replied bluntly.

"They didn't tell you that you're working with me while you're in England." The Hood informed Batman, unaware that he was also unaware.

"What! You've got to be kidding me!" Batman exclaimed.

"Take it easy!" The Hood said as he reached for Batman's shoulder.

"No! It's him, he was caught up in the Olympic Bombings and the department-store hostage situation." He thrust his clenched fist into the air, glad that he won't have to beat anyone up just yet.

"Damn."

"Richard, get the police up to the roof of Peregrine House." He walked over to me, "the police are coming to question you about what you've been through. They'll be here any minute to take you to the station. Don't worry about a thing."

I nodded and slouched down besides the fan.

"We need to talk." Batman called the caped figure over to him. "As far as I was aware, you should be dead." The two of them held conversation by the defused bomb.

"The UK were aware of the threat of terrorism from the Middle East. After all that has happened in the past with our involvement in their conflicts, we decided to let it burn out. Only then did they start coming over here, trying to avenge the deaths of the thousands of innocents that died during the wars by killing British innocents. MI6 thought it would be best that I stayed out if this, to try to draw the terrorists out from hiding while they were in this country, so that they could get their own people to apprehend them." The Hood replied, hoping that his fake death story would be believed.

"Right, that still doesn't explain why you 'died.'" Batman hesitated, raising his hands into the air to mime the inverted commas around the word died.

"To increase the chances of the terrorists coming out of hiding, the government faked my own death, by making it look like that another terrorist group pushed me off the dam at Kielder Water in Northumberland. I was never dead as such, just," he paused in hesitation, "Staying dark. That's when I was informed about you, being called over here to try to help MI6 bring back order. Obviously, you're down on equipment, so you'll be struggling finding your way around, and finding dark spots away from people, so they told me to find you. You'll need me to get around this city, trust me." The Hood continued, emphasising the trust towards the end by placing his hand on Batman's shoulder.

"Why was I not told about this?" Batman asked with confusion

"It would risk breaking my darkness. So, how does that sound to you?" The Hood asked.

"Plausible. Alright, Hood, I'll accept your help."

"You're doing England an enormous favour by being here, you know. But the public have to be kept out of this as much as possible. The government are essentially using them as bait for the terrorists, which is just plain wrong if you ask me. Unnecessary collateral damage"

"Agreed."

"I've got a place is Bishopsgate where your stuff is, I'll take you there once he's been taken care of."

"Alright."

"Come on, are you only gonna talk in one liners?" The Hood muttered.

"No, I'm not. Something just doesn't feel right." Batman said as he looked over The City with a dull expression.

"Welcome to London, my friend."

"You're welcome, now, if you'll excuse me." He began to talk into his earpiece again, "There was a bomb on the roof of a block of flats at my present location, which I defused. 1 civilian was present, about 40 years old, he was caught up in two previous attacks and the police have arrived to question him."

"You coming, or not?"

"One moment, I'm heading there now."

Batman walked towards the police by the door and began to talk in a muffled voice: "Go easy on him, he's had a rough time."

The two officers walked past Batman, towards me.

He continued towards Hood, who was waiting with crossed arms by the edge of the roof.

"You need to lighten up, it will help you through this. Now, shall we take the stairs, or jump?"

Hood's words must have had an effect on Batman, as he lept off the roof, gliding to the ground twenty-four storeys below. Hood followed shortly behind, rappelling down the side of the block of flats as a brisk pace. At the foot of the block of flats, the two of them met on the pavement beside the car park.

"So you came without a car?"

"No," Hood pressed a button on a keyfob, "here she is..."

Batman was about to speak when a matte black Bentley Continental GT rolled up beside them, the doors swung open as the car stopped. Hood stepped down into the bucket driver seat, a smirk grew across his face as he revved the engine, letting out a deep purr from under the bonnet, "Get in, I'll take you to Bishopsgate."

"In this!? This looks like it can barely move."

"Just, get in."

Unwilling to argue about weights and measures, Batman walked around the front of the car and entered the left hand side. The seat was lower than he thought, as he seemingly fell for an eternity before reaching the seat.

Slightly amused, he joked, "I suppose this thing has some jet in it or something along those lines. Am I right?"

Ignoring his attempt to figure out what was powering the Bentley, Hood pressed his boot on the throttle to the floor.

Both of their faces remained expressionless as the car accelerated past 100mph alongside London Wall, pulling Gs as they manoeuvred around parked police cars, turning onto Bishopsgate. The car continued a short distance down the street, stopping outside the shell of an unfinished office tower: 'The Pinnacle'. This was due to be the centerpiece of The City of London, but problems with funding lead to the project being abandoned, after only 10 floors had been constructed, out of 68. The core stood crumbling another 18 floors in total.

Upon arriving Batman wasn't too sure what to expect, that is until they entered the building. Clear plastic sheets were lay upon the unlaid floor and scratched glazing outlined most of the building, apart from a gaping hole in one of the sides on the 4th floor where scaffolding shrouded it. Aside from all the building equipment and material, he couldn't help but be in awe of the suits lined along the far wall, each in its own individual glass case. The glass looked heavily fingerprinted, like they had been man-handled. _Must have been the emigration_, he thought to himself.

"I'll admit," an American accent sliced through the silence and bounced off the concrete walls, giving off a slight echo, "It's no batcave, but it'll do for storage whilst I'm here. No-one will be coming in and no one has any reason to, seeing as this place is abandoned?'

"Yeah, despite this place being abandoned, there is still a fair bit of security around here. '_Gotta protect the bankers and all that'_"

"They make me sick. But it still isn't enough, what other safeguards you have?"

Hood walked over to the edge of the floor plate and knocked on the window, "We can see out, no one can see in. Also-" He walked over to the hole in the central core where they entered,"- there are sensors everywhere on this floor, the floor below, and the core. If anyone comes up who shouldn't be here, The Met will be notified and they will come down on this like a tonne of bricks. But I guess that still isn't enough, is it?" He stood with crossed arms, leaning against the cracked concrete, eyebrows raised.

"It'll do for now. I need to check what I have available to me, alone." Batman said. glaring at Hood from a distance.

"Alright, you don't need to be so forward! Lighten up a little!" Hood threw his hands above his head and rushed into the staircase. Reaching the top of the core, he climbed a ladder attached to one of the cranes and walked to the end. He stood, watching over his city with pride, knowing that it would remain safe during this crisis. Even it it did mean having to reappear after being 'dead'.

"Listen."

He looked around to see where that voice came from, and saw nothing.

"Up here."

Hood saw fabric floating in the dusk time breeze. He maneuvered himself over the supporting girders, onto the top of the gantry, "You're good at surprising people! What do you want?"

"More people," He said with a deep sigh, "If we are going to have any chance of stopping these terrorists then we need more manpower." Batman sounded regretful as he made Hood aware of his need.

"You have enough! You have the army, Met Police, and MI6 at your disposal, what more could you want?" Hood questioned.

"I need people I can trust, besides you. I have contacts in America who I know can handle this, who are effective, who can work alongside eccentrics like yourself." Batman replied

"And these people are…?" Hood asked in his inquisitive nature.

"It's better if you don't know, what I can tell you is: get me a secure cell." Batman requested.

"Whatever you say."

Hood climbed down the ladder, back into the core. He descended the stairs to the floor with the equipment on, and began to look for a mobile phone which he could make the call on when he heard the distinctive sound of the Nokia tone. He'd found the phone, but who was calling? He grabbed the phone and ran to the top of the building, the phone ringing in his hand. "Oi! Here's the phone!" Hood shouted.

Batman grabbed the phone out of Hood's hand and began to speak. "The Pinnacle," followed by "Bishopsgate," followed by "11pm."

"And that is?"

"You'll see."


	6. Chapter 6

The phone call had been abrupt and ended a quickly as it had begun. Hood sat in confusion as Batman continued pressing buttons on the phone.

"Are you going to tell me who this person is?" Hood asked, trying to figure out who would be meeting them in the next few minutes

"You'll see, just wait."

The sound of knuckles tapping on concrete rang through the air, though it was quiet among the sounds of the city. Batman paced back from the far wall to towards the door and peered through the crack in the wall opposite. A man in a blue shirt with black shoulder pads and a security badge stood in the doorway; he has a large man who stood slouched with his hands in his pockets. With a knowing look, Bruce grabbed the door handle, pulled on it and flung the door open.

"Good to see you again, Andrew."

"And good to see you too Bruce. Glad to see you heard about the name," the man said with a slight smile.

"Well, news gets around." Batman gave another quick glance at his attire before looking back at the man's face, "Undercover by any chance?"

"Forcing an English accent, hiding my true self, and wearing a suit which itches? Yeah, you could say that."

Hood sat watching the two men reconvene before clearing his throat and grabbing their attention.

"Ah yes. Andrew, this is my partner whilst I'm here in England, Hood."

"You know what? Call me George." He stretched his arm out in front of Andrew, "George Cross."

"Andrew Clarke." He replied, meeting George's hand in the middle. They shook for a few seconds and loosened their grip.

"Bruce, a word?" George requested, pointing to a corner.

Bruce agreed and walked over to the corner with George, "Go on." He whispered.

"Really?! That's all the help you want, a security detail?" George whispered back in anger.

"He worked with me for a good few years in America, trust me, he's good." Bruce replied calmly.

"Under what name did he work for you with? He would have had a different name if he worked with you, more so if he's now 'undercover'." George fired back with ease.

"That doesn't matter! If you'd just shut up, then you'll see what he really does."

Andrew was of a light complexion, about five foot eleven, with mid length dark hair, and a lean build. He clearly looked after himself, despite having a slightly slouched posture.

"Andrew, meet us on the roof in five minutes. You need to be ready."

"Got it." Andrew acknowledged.

Bruce and George took a brief walk to the roof, and remained silent for the duration of their wait.

"So, am I expecting fireworks or something? He better be good."

"You'll see." A small smile appeared on Bruce's face through his scowl.

A few minutes later, a man in a tight fitting suit with a blue insignia representing an some sort of bird stretching from shoulder to shoulder, reaching his midpoint. In each hand the man was carrying a stick with a blue band around the top. He approached the amused looking Bruce and the stunned George.

"Well that was anticlimactic!" George shouted, breaking the silence.

Bruce remained silent, and gave a nod towards Andrew.

Andrew responded by hitting the floor with the sticks, sending a surge of electricity towards George, who was subsequently knocked off his feet.

George found himself waking up on the concrete floor, with the sight of Bruce and Andrew coming into focus shortly after.

"He is good," George struggled with regret, "who are you again?"

Andrew turned his head towards Bruce, who gave a single nod.

"Richard Greyson," he took out a similarly blue eye cover and placed it over his eyes.

"Well, I didn't need a physical demonstration!"

"Come on, get up," Richard sighed, knelt down slightly and grabbed George's outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet, "As far as I'm aware, it's the best way to show you how it works."

"We don't have time for this. George, don't underestimate my men." Bruce demanded.

Both Richard and George nodded in agreement and began to walk downstairs, towards the basement, followed closely by Bruce, watching over the two of them as if they were a bunch of juveniles. Bruce overheard them muttering in front, with the occasional laugh breaking the monotony of footsteps on concrete. The muttering ended, however, once they reached one of the three basement levels.

"And this is ours?"

"Each and every bit of it."

"Nice."

Ignoring the sight of an entire room full of tracking equipment and monitors displaying the Microsoft Windows logo, Bruce walked over to the door with the small set of steps that lead out onto the street. "And we even have a quick escape route if anything goes wrong," he pointed out, sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"Yes Bruce, I think you'll find MI6 thought of everything," George added, returning the sarcasm.

Richard was sat in front of the one of the computers, his weapon stashed in his utility belt. Eyes scanning the screen he began to speak, "It doesn't look like there's anything going on right now in the city at all. It kind of seems quiet…"

"That's a square word in a round world when talking about London," Bruce rushed towards Richard and the computer, closely followed by George.

"Somethings not right," George said with worry, "The people showing up on the radar are just staying put; they're not moving. They're all clustered around the centre- around the sensor."

"Okay, well where is the sensor place exactly?" asked Bruce, frowning the confusion. Richard tapped on the keyboard, and the ariel-view they had before had zoomed further in until they reached the zoom-in's extent. The screen showed an underground sign in pristine condition; obviously it had to be in the centre of London to have been kept looking nice for tourists. The text beneath the tube's roundel was read aloud by the three of them in unison. King's Cross Station.

"But, it's 3am right now, why are there people in the underground station. There aren't any trains. No one's movin-" George was interrupted by realisation hitting him in the face.

"They're hostages."

"What? That's absurd! Why keep a bunch of people hostage in one of the capital's busiest tourist spots? It's not exactly the best hiding place, at whatever time of day." Richard retorted.

"To show power? Because they can? Who knows, all I know is that if we don't get there soon, we could have another mass homicide on our hands. What do you say Bruce? Bruce?"

Batman was gone, the door to the outside street hung open and a breeze trickled through.

"Crap, I don't suppose that this place has a way to reach him?" Richard quizzed George.

"Uh, yeah, I think. If you press that button with the red circle on, it should open up a socket to his cowl."

"Alright," Richard walked over to the table opposite the monitors, and pressed the button, "you can't just go running off like that! Tell us where you are and we'll catch up."

"Uh Richard..." George stood by the monitors, gazing at a black and white live feed from the concourse at King's Cross underground station, "He's already there."

The monitor displayed the three people in the centre, with a fourth in the corner, Bruce.

"I see three individuals, near the tunnel to the Metropolitan Line platform. No further individuals are in sight, but there is a possibility that there are others here."

"How did you get there so fast?" Richard interrupted.

"The Northern Line." Bruce bantered back, clearly not in the mood to be questioned during his investigation

"And you didn't tell us, why?"

"You'd slow me down, besides, I trusted my instinct."

"You're bloody mad! You could get killed!" George interjected.

There was no reply, by which point both Richard and George were beside the monitor, watching Bruce, who was staring at the security camera, his finger over his lips.

He approached the three hostages and found no bomb or weapon of any type near them. Knowing he was safe, Bruce unwound the gag around one of the hostage's mouth.

"Are you ok?" Bruce asked the first hostage, his voice echoing around the control room.

"Yes."

"Are there any others?"

"I don't know."

"Richard, George, get down here and sort these people out. I'll see if there are any more." Bruce demanded, leaving for the deep level tunnels before he'd finished.

"Got it. Come on Richard."

Richard and George departed for the street, heading up the narrow staircase towards the dark of the night. Once they got there, George realised that his car had been used by Bruce.

"He better know how to drive a bloody manual!" George shouted, kicking up the dirt beneath his feet.

"Well, is there any other way?" Richard asked, not fazed by the chance of a wrecked car

"Yeah," George sighed, "Follow me."

The two of them began to run up Bishopsgate, towards Bank, the busiest tube station on the network.

"We can get into the tunnels through here, it isn't far to King's Cross from Bank." George told Richard, "Have you been eating carrots recently?" He jested.

"Nope, but I'm guessing it'll be dark down there then?"

"Umm, it's a tunnel on a closed network at about half past three in the morning, what do you think?" Sarcasm flew out of George's mouth as he opened the door to the service tunnel, "We better hurry though; we don't have time for this." George patted Richard's ear, placing a small microphone and speaker in his ear.

Richard entered the service tunnel first, followed closely by George, who pulled the door shut behind him, the noise from the old iron hinges reverberated down the tunnel for almost an eternity. The tunnel continued in front of them for another 100 meters or so until they reached a larger tunnel; the Northern Line.

"Now you see why I asked if you ate carrots."

Ignoring George, Richard began to shuffle onto the slightly raised track, over the sleepers, and onto the rails. Without steadying himself, he stood up and began to wait for George, who was wondering which direction to head. George took out his PDA from a small pocket on top of his left glove. He input his current coordinates and his destination, revealing an arrow pointing north, to his right.

"This way," George pointed to his right, "Hurry."

Richard, already inside the railway tunnel, began to sprint along the track, checking behind himself for George, who had lowered himself down onto the concrete below, and was running behind him.

"You're a bit slow!" Richard joked

"But I'm here now, so move!" George replied in anger.

They continued running in silence, passing Moorgate, Old Street, and Angel, without breaking a sweat. They arrived into the King's Cross St. Pancras Interchange, where they would have to navigate a maze of interconnecting tunnels and escalators to reach the hostages on the concourse on the sub-surface.

"We need to get topside now."

"Sure, but the tunnels are blocked by gates. How do you suggest we get out? You know Bruce well enough so he must have given you something…"

"Yes, he did," Richard upholstered a small pair of bolt cutters from his belt and approached the metal, and began to score the one of the bars by twisting the handle around it. Within a minute, the metal had been cut clean through, leaving a narrow gap between the upper half and lower half, large enough, however, for the bar to be levered back and forth. The bar measured about an inch in diameter, and was tough to bend, but with enough brute force from four arms of two people, the bar bent with ease, leaving a wide enough gap for Richard and George to fit through, only just. Their muscular frames made the narrow gap even narrower for them, leaving less that 1cm of leeway. Nevertheless, they made it, and were heading through the tunnels towards the concourse, up several flights of escalators.

Eventually, the group reached the sub surface concourse, the bare concrete strip lighting again far from the likes of Gotham. Several tunnels leading to the different underground lines split off in several directions from the concourse, with another set of escalators leading to the main international railway station.

"I'll check upstairs, George, you get the hostages." Richard informed George while walking to the exit, combat sticks in hand.

"It's The Hood while I'm working in front of the public, Nightwing." George said with utmost confidence

"I'll be upstairs, searching for Br- I mean, Batman." Nightwing corrected himself.

"Got it."

Nightwing rushed up the set of stairs in between the stopped escalators, mouthing the words of The Hood as he ascended.

In the concourse, The Hood approached the two remaining gagged hostages, and then untied all three of them. The hostages gasped for air and before they could utter a string of vowels and consonants, they were stopped by The Hood's introduction: "I am The Hood, on Her Majesties Super Secret Service, are you ok?" The Hood said in a comforting tone.

"What a corny name for a government organisation!" A freeman burst out laughing.

"Shut , are there any others?" One of the freed men replied.

"Not that I know of. Come on, let's get you out of here."

"Alright." Another hostage said as they grabbed The Hood's outstretched arm.

They headed for the main station to find the platforms almost empty, minus the few drunken stragglers and the people waiting for loved ones on the night trains from the south. Batman and Nightwing were nowhere to be seen.

"Status."

"Nothing on platforms 1 to 12, returning to the underground entrance now" Nightwing replied.

"The ticket hall is clear, I'll come and meet you." Batman whispered from the roof. He fell from the eve and glided down towards the polished floor, meeting The Hood, freed hostages and the approaching Nightwing besides the information desk, stumbling on landing.

"You look like you need practice!"

"Well what do you know? This guy has been gagged and bounded underground for the past three hours-"

"Four, actually." Batman was halted abruptly by the freed hostage

"-Four hours, and still has the mouth to interrupt me. Yes, he's fine. Let's get them questioned."

"I'll inform Headquaters" Nightwing said.

"I'll get some water." The Hood murmured.

"I'll have Perrier, thanks." The freed hostage said flippantly.

Infuriated, Batman ran up to him and picked him up by the throat.

"Easy!" Nightwing shouted, trying to defuse the situation

"Shut it! It would be best if you kept your mouth shut for the time being!"

"Hey, let him go!" One of the other freed hostages cried out as the other freemen looked on in horror.

A silence that lasted a lifetime could be heard throughout the station as a crowd of drunken travellers crowded around the elevated, choking man. Eventually, Batman let the man down, who collapsed to his knees, gulping air as if it were soup.

"You can't lose your rag like that, it'll slow us down!" The Hood spoke out in anger as he handed small bottles of water to the freed hostages.

"You question them. I'll wait outside," declared Batman.

"That would be best."

"Look, if you'd been stuck underground for as long as we'd been, I think you'd be quite willing to lighten the mood a little. Don't you think?" The loud-mouthed freeman spoke in an anger-laced tone.

"Don't you ever, ever, talk about being 'stuck underground' to us. You don't even know the meaning of 'stuck underground'!" Nightwing roared.

"Fine. I'll just shut up then."

On the roof, as he was mentally 'cooling off', Batman looked through the glass arches down onto the platforms at his men as they questioned the three men they had discovered earlier. He thought to himself: 'They are a pretty good team, they kind if get along, and they work well together.' But it still wasn't enough. Yes, three is 'the magic number', but either way, he still wasn't satisfied.

"You'll be looking for me next, won't you?

"Knight?"

"That's me, what are you doing here?"

"To help your country."

"We are quite capable of doing that ourselves!"

"Obviously not, as your country asked for me to come over here, and besides, you're already helping."

"Is that so?" Knight looked down through the glass, "You're letting him help?" Knight pointed at The Hood below him.

"Yes, and now, I'm letting you help too, so get down there!" Batman gestured towards a ladder leading behind the departures board on the wall of the main concourse.

"You've changed." Knight articulated as he began to climb down the ladder.

"It's good to see you too" Batman whispered to himself with an element of sarcasm in his tone.

On the concourse below, Nightwing had gathered the freemen's personal information, and the description of their captors. Although vague, it was enough to get a rough idea as to who did this to them. Everything was going smoothly, and they were about to end and head back to Bishopsgate, when The

Hood noticed someone climbing down the ladder, followed by another, almost identical figure just above him.

"Hold on a sec, Nightwing, get the police to take them home."

"What's the ru- Oh." He'd also noticed the two figures.

"What's all this then?"

"Another man to help you lot." The unknown figure shouted from behind the departure board. A strong English accent pulsates around the dome of the station.

"Wait, Knight?"

"Yes."

"But your..."

"Dead? No. Well, yes. It's," he paused, hesitation hanging in the air,"complicated. I guess you could call me Knight Mark two..."

"I'm not in the mood for details, you're here, and we've finished with this lot, you'll have to wait until we find the guy who did this to them."

"Well, what do we know about him? And why these people?"

"We know he is a male, with black hair, about six foot, and walked with a limp."

"Here," Nightwing passed a tablet to Knight, who looked at it in confusion, "access CCTV for down in the subsurface concourse from 9pm til 3am."

"Or," He passed back the tablet in disgust, "We go down there and look for actual things?"

"We could do that," Nightwing passed back the tablet, "Or, we could find out where he went afterwards, so we can find him!"

"Fine. We'll do it your way," he growled, before inaudibly adding, "the boring way," under his breath.

They managed to find him on the footage running along one of the vast tunnels hurriedly.

"There, he went towards," The Hood paused, searching a nearby tube map, "the Piccadilly Line, southbound."

"What's on the Piccadilly Line?"

"Green Park, for Buckingham Palace."

"Well we can assume he went there then."

"Good, I quite fancy a quick visit to the royals." Knight joked as he walked towards a group of pay phones.

"Knightsbridge is not far along the line too, he could have gone there maybe?" The Hood added as he studied the map.

"The Monarch, or rich foreigners? There's certainly a lot of money around there." Nightwing commented.

"Hold on," Knight shouted from a nearby pay phone, "Alright, thanks."

"So?"

"The Queen is at Windsor, so he is likely to be somewhere around the rich foreigners.," Hood said, though he was skeptical, his eyes dancing between the tube map and tablet, confusion etched onto his face. "What if he isn't going to either of them? There's a row of abandoned buildings, well, more like shacks, if you get nearer the end of the line. He's showing no signs of stopping and he's nearing Buckingham Palace now. I'm just throwing this out there but maybe he's going to the place where plans it all; where we're most likely to catch him. I mean, it's not likely that we're going to catch him in the act; he's a cunning criminal."

Silence followed, as the men looked at the Hood in utter disbelief.

"Okay man, you're suggesting that if we follow him, he'll go to one of three places. Knightsbridge where are the rich people are, Buckingham Palace where the British Monarchy is based, or his secret criminal lair that no-one will think of going to?" Batman carried an even tone.

"That's about the size of it."

"Has it occurred to anyone that these terrorists are Middle Eastern, and Knightsbridge is full of Middle Easterns during August?" Knight said.

"No."

"Nope."

"Not really."

"He's probably mixing in, I reckon we head there." Knight drew an imaginary circle around Knightsbridge station.

The group began to head for the main entrance, which lead to a large square, recently completed after a lengthy reconstruction.

"Right then, where's the car?" The Hood asked Batman, who drove last.

"Outside." Batman replied.

"Can you fit four suited men inside." Nightwing asked.

"I don't know to be honest, I've never had a group of four like minded men need to travel so urgently." The Hood responded followed by a cough.

"Well, we'll see when we get there."

"Wait, what about the men?"

"The police are here now, don't worry about them."

Upon saying that, three officers wearing green visibility jackets over their bulky uniforms w

"What do you want us to do with them?" A policewoman approached the four of them.

"Take them home." Knight told the police.

"Got it, come on, let's get them loaded up."

"Anyone got an umbrella? It's raining again"

Thunder clapped around the city, as the sky lit up with the occasional bolt of lightning.

"This is more like it!"

"You can take this back to America if you like!"

The group continued towards the door, then across the square to the car.

"Now then," The Hood said with a hint of a sigh, "let's see if we can fit everyone in here."

The four men clambered into the vehicle, their suits proving to be a hindrance in this circumstance. Knightsbridge wasn't too far from where they were, and in the early hours of the morning, London's roads were unrecognisable compared to later in the day at rush-hour when the whole city was gridlocked. The cramped conditions inside the Bentley made for an uncomfortable ride, but after all, these are the four most physically powerful men in Britain now, so it's not anything they coundn't handle.


End file.
